Crimson Ribbon
by Coofis
Summary: Even the brightest flames fade into flickering recollections of their former glory. A life abounding in vibrancy can ebb into the solemn trail of a crimson ribbon, its cruel metallic stench indicative of countless memories now doomed to die. Series of oneshots.


Crimson Ribbon »

Summary: Even the brightest flames fade into flickering recollections of their former glory. A life abounding in vibrancy can ebb into the solemn trail of a crimson ribbon, its cruel metallic stench indicative of countless memories now doomed to die. Series of oneshots.

**A/N...**This shall be the first of hopefully many oneshots concerning Dragon Ball Z. They will not focus on one character or one saga. Some may be dark. Morbid. Others will possess a more philosophical outlook. There will most definitely be drama and angst, which I have marked as the genres for these one-shots. There may also be a sprinkling of romance and friendship within a few. But I hope to bring each one-shot back to the "Crimson Ribbon" theme, whatever form it takes. Please enjoy, and do tell me what you think of this first one!

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Blood.

It represented, in its reflective scarlet depths, two drastic parallels which twang an anthem of eternal solemnity within the souls of all who behold its essence. As unfeeling rays of sunlight glint erratically across its ruby-reminiscent surface, it uplifts into the heart of the witness fragmented emotions of hatred and grief. Its dark pattern of fathomless red symbolizes the fragility of life and, at the same time, the manifold beauty of it.

But veiled by its benign and even enticing appearance is a barbarous connotation of pain and brutality. It is emblematic of a unique personality being rendered devoid of its very core - the fruitless dreams, the expressions and interactions of a singular entity sprouting forth in harsh tones of reality from the cruel liquid. It embodies the very existence of a being and thus decrees that the inimitable existence be stripped of its verve and animation.

And in pitiless contrast to the pale, wispy sands bedecking the sapphire plains of the barren land yawning before the huddle of life forms, it was wholly present - the numbing evidence of the puce fluid was merciless in its manifestation.

A crumpled form, surrounded by the putrefied remains of powdered rocks, was sprawled upon the unforgiving soil, his haughty demeanor made perilously vulnerable to further onslaught. He had faced a battle which had not been balanced in his favor from the very beginning and was now reduced to a state of powerless anticipation, or more a state of apprehension.

Death incarnate was the image of the vindictive universal tyrant known as Frieza. His callously-wrought features and hardened mind were capable of imposing horrific fates upon his opponents, and the methods of malice he employed were subject to his volatile whim. His deceptive tongue weaved elaborate falsehoods for the twisted purpose of deferring the hopes of his foes before sentencing them to ghastly ends at his filthy paws.

And death incarnate, with his warped motives set in taunting clarity, the blood of many an opponent leaving an everlasting stain upon his hands, turned his steps toward the weakened man.

_"Oh my. What do we have here? A fallen Prince. Oh dear!"_

Like barbs dipped in odorous venom, the cutting words stung the battered and helpless figure. The constant mask of stoic strength which had always remained faithful to him faltered beneath the mocking inspection of the scornful wraith beside him. His dignity had disintegrated around him, leaving him defenseless against the cruel jibes of his greatest adversary.

Frieza's impending monologue which pronounced his inevitable fate registered almost casually upon his senses. He had known it was coming long before the day arrived. With every pulsating beat of his heart he had feared it - feared the dawn of the showdown between him and the tyrant who had cast an ominous shadow across his childhood, yet longed for the day upon which his people could be avenged and clung to the hope that he would succeed. Frieza had stolen the pleasures of his youth from him, goading him into anger with degrading titles. And still he bided his time...

Tears pricked forlornly at his obsidian pupils as a torrent of bitter memories were imprinted upon his vision. The salty pools of liquid sent needles of pain which were disregarded as the danger of his present situation dawned fully upon him. He was going to die. He, the mighty Prince of a race which had been spiraled into near extinction by a golden sphere of lethal energy colliding with his home planet, was about to meet a pitiful end at the hands of very creature who had attempted the deed of total annihilation.

He felt a chilling sensation pierce his shoulder, its icy tendrils pronouncing the arrival of his certain demise. Frieza had enclosed lengthy fingers around one strap of his armor and was now grinning fiendishly at him, the vicious smile written upon his features a sickening testimony of the devilish joy he felt.

His darkened eyes traced the stark outline of those lethal appendages, now poised in malevolent delight at an angle so terribly familiar in its meaning. He was going to die. He was going to die...

A vehement flare of chi rapidly approaching alerted both the prey and the predator to its entrance. The prey felt himself being dropped upon the grass and welcomed the feeling of solidity beneath him. His frantic pulse thundered in his ears, not yet willing to accept the relief of being narrowly spared from a gruesome death at least for the time being.

"Kakarrot. You made it."

He heard his lips form the words, cracked and devoid of their usual arrogance. His surroundings clouded into a hazy misrepresentation of their intriguing vigor, and through the mist which blanketed his irises he saw a telltale splash of orange. Hope.

Confidence radiated from the muscular figure beside him. It was a confidence which at first scrutiny was almost suicidal in its bravery, but upon further examination revealed serene assurance of victory. There was no petty bluff or ruse quavering within the aura of buoyancy that encircled the orange-clad Saiyan. He was fully aware of his own abilities and his thoughtful frown was calm and calculating.

A flare of hate empowered the Prince's limbs for a single fragment of a second as the full extent of his archrival's power engulfed his mind. The lowly third-class warrior was living out the dream that _he,_ the Prince of All Saiyans, had aspired to accomplish. The lowly third-class warrior was going to defeat Frieza. The lowly third-class warrior...was a Super Saiyan.

He could feel it. He _knew._ Kakarrot had reached the hallowed status which had fueled Vegeta's very survival under Frieza's dictatorship. It was the status which Vegeta had toiled to attain - the status which he had sweated and bled for. And Kakarrot was the one who would be the first to taste of its glory.

And yet an emotion of smug satisfaction enveloped the older warrior. His primary objective, from the day when he had been torn from all that he had ever dared to love, was to be the sole and merciless cause of the lizard tyrant's demise. To breathe in the acrid smell of the scarlet, steamy tide of exultant retribution. To mock the bulbous heads of bloody droplets as they cascaded down the quivering flesh of his captor, rolling in wicked lines like manevolent crimson ribbons.

Even if he was reduced to such a pitiful state as plagued him now, his deceased people would still be avenged by a fellow pureblood Saiyan. Frieza would still bleed, even if he were not the cause.

"This is a dream come true...to see you..._beaten by a Saiyan!"_

The bold taunt escaped from his lips in a weakened tumble of words, and he smiled roguishly. Frieza's reckoning had finally come. At last, his tormentor would perish. Blood would be spilt. The Saiyan race would have their reprisal.

A debilitated laugh, its harsh croak reverberating off of the rocks, served to express the extent of his joy. He felt the need to send another cruel jab in the tyrant's direction, relishing the spark of fear that glittered momentarily in the Icejin's eyes. He informed Frieza of the fact that he had confirmed within his own reflections: Kakarrot was a Super Saiyan.

_A life for a life, _the Prince mused bitterly. _You stole everything from me, and now...your life for my life, Frieza. Just as you extinguished my own desires for greatness, Kakarrot will extinguish yours. You will fall at the hands of the race you loathe most._

He hardly had time to react to what came next.

The lethal beam of light, pulsating with raw power, weaved a swift and deadly path through the emerald skies of Planet Namek. It twinkled heinously as it pierced the protective sheath that was the Prince's armor. Shreds of singed skin, now blackened and releasing thin trails of smoke, revealed the horrible truth: the beam had penetrated the Saiyan's heart.

Vegeta thudded upon the packed dirt, an expression of pained shock written across his sharply-wrought features. The world distorted into a miasma of whimsical colors and indistinct geometric shapes as pain exploded within every limb of his body. Suddenly, a sense of panic overtook him. His gloved fingers vainly clutched at the barren soil and he choked out a splash of blood.

A singular goal screamed its purpose through his brain. His final critical moments were slipping from him. He knew what he must do. He had to tell Kakarrot. He had to compel the younger Saiyan to complete what he himself had failed to complete.

And, with a rattling breath, he unveiled his tale.

Whisked away from his family and from his planet at the tender age of five. Kept forcefully obedient by the threat that his father's life was at stake. Years of ceaseless gore and bloodshed, of hearing the screams of terrified civilians as he wreaked his murderous campaign upon them. The ache of losing his people that soon subsided into fury and cold-heartedness. The knowledge that he and Kakarrot were the only ones left.

And through the tears which blurred his vision, he saw that Kakarrot listened intently. And he knew. He knew that Kakarrot would be true to the silent word that he offered to the Prince. He would defeat Frieza. He would avenge the Saiyans.

_A life for a life..._

The torturous pain began to ebb throughout Vegeta's chest, and slowly, the world faded into serene darkness and the deepest silence.

Blood, like a silky crimson ribbon, was intermingled with the tears of a broken soul upon the whispery sands of Namek. And Goku vowed to dispose of the devious creature before him. Not only for the sake of his long-lost people, but for the sake of Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans. He would be the one to end Frieza's existence.

A life for a life.

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**A/N...** That was short. Please review! Thanks so much! I will try to put out the next Crimson Ribbon oneshot soon!


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